Superman's words echoed in Marcus's mind. "Why do you need my help?" The truth, raw and dangerous, burned on his lips. Because my powers are those of a monster. Because I could just as easily reduce this city to ash as save it. But he held back. This wasn't the place, not yet.
"This power... it's new to me," Marcus said, choosing his words carefully. "It's overwhelming. And I... I don't remember anything before waking up in that apartment. Fragments, echoes. Nothing concrete."
Superman's gaze grew more penetrating, but no less compassionate. Amnesia was a phenomenon he was familiar with, often linked to deep trauma.
"I see," Superman murmured. He cast a final glance at the tanker, now stable, then returned his focus to Marcus. "We can't stay here. We need to know more. There's someone far better than me at uncovering the truth."
Marcus didn't need to ask who. A single, dark and imposing figure came to mind.
"Marcus, we need to move. Can you follow me?" Superman asked, his voice firm and decisive once more.
"Of course," Marcus replied without hesitation.
In one fluid motion, Superman rose into the air, his crimson cape spreading like a banner. Marcus pushed off with his legs and followed, instinctively mastering his own flight to keep pace with the Kryptonian. They left the ocean behind, the oil spill being contained, and shot toward the coast, then inland.
Their destination wasn't a shining city, but a wild, mountainous expanse. Superman headed for a seemingly ordinary cliff face. An invisible signal was sent, and a section of the rock retracted in perfect silence, revealing a dark, futuristic entrance: the Batcave's Main Entrance.
They landed on a wide, smooth platform. The air was cool, smelling of ozone and damp stone. The lighting, dim and directional, illuminated rows of computers with massive screens, display cases holding costumes and artifacts, and, in the center, the imposing silhouette of the man they had come to see.
Batman stood with his back to them, studying a stream of data on the main screen. He didn't turn around immediately.
"Clark," he greeted, his voice a low, neutral rumble. "You brought a visitor."
Then, he slowly turned. His gaze, hidden by the white lenses of his cowl, settled on Marcus, scrutinizing him, taking him apart piece by piece with an intensity that made Superman's earlier silence feel almost warm by comparison.
"Who is this?" Batman asked, the question directed at Superman, but his entire attention riveted on Marcus.
"Batman, this is Marcus Rogers," Superman introduced, placing himself slightly between the two men, an instinctual barrier. "He's suffering from amnesia and possesses significant... abilities. He asked for help."
Batman took a step forward, circling Marcus like a predator analyzing its prey.
"Marcus Rogers," he repeated, as if the name were a sample he was testing in a lab. "According to preliminary scans I ran upon your arrival, your energy signature is atypical. Highly atypical." He stopped, facing him. "And your clothing has mineral residues found in only one region: Bialya."
The word fell like a guillotine blade in the cave's silence.
"Bialya..." Marcus murmured, the name stirring a troubled shudder deep within him, a sensation of oppressive heat and possessive gazes.
Batman crossed his arms. "And we are going to discover what happened to you there, and why you left with powers and no memory. Lie down," he ordered, pointing to an examination table that looked more like a futuristic MRI machine. "The Bat-computer is thirsty for data."